Macross Fan Fiction ❯ Underground Down Under ❯ A Night At Daly Waters ( Chapter 8 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Robotech: Underground Down Under

Chapter VIII: A Night At Daly Waters

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The first day on the ACIF's journey south could not have been more marvelous. Of course, it was the most boring day Sabol had ever spent, but that was a small price to pay for making over 600 miles without encountering the Invid. They had followed the Stuart Highway south to Daly Waters. While under most circumstances sticking to the roads was at high risk for attracting the attention of potentially traitorous fellow humans, Barker felt confident in his group's pacification of local scum at least far south as Daly Waters, the most distant outpost within the ACIF's sphere of influence.

The town had a rugged, century old airstrip scored out of the red earth. The brush was fairly thick and in some places the strip was overgrown, though hardly much of an impediment to VTOL equipped Veritechs. Sabol set the AGAC down near where an old wreck still lay bleaching in the setting sun. Popping the canopy, he walked over to observe what looked like the fuselage of a propeller driven cargo plane. A faded circular insignia was still evident painted on the rusting skin, looking much like a bull's eye.

"Admiring our relic, I see?" a voice came from beyond him.

"Gordon Sabol, meet Riley Tonga, station chief of Daly Waters," Barker projected over the roar of Veritech engines as Sabol shook hands with a grizzled looking man who at a distance could have been mistaken for Barker's twin.

"I take it we can't blame that one on our friends, the Invid," Sabol said lightly, gesturing to the wreckage.

"Oh no," Tonga answered. "It's been here about 75 years. A C-47 if I'm not mistaken, manufactured by this looney country called America."

"Never heard of it," Sabol assured him with a straight face.

"Well, we can't blame the Invid for the plane. But they must have really leveled the rest of this place, though." Sabol gestured to the collection of shacks which made up the "town" a few klicks from the airfield.

Barker's eyes went wide. "Uh, oh," he said.

"He's a Yank," Jen piped up helpfully from behind them. Sabol chuckled.

"So you don't have to kill him!" Owens squeaked cheerfully.

Tonga narrowed his eyes for a moment, then laughed.

"Well, I suppose it's ok then," he said, patting his revolver in its holster for effect. "Mr. Sabol, you're looking at one of the few places on Earth that hasn't been affected by Zentraedi, Masters, or Invid. Well except for…Well, come on, I'll take you to the real reason people come here."

The Daly Waters Pub was a single story building with a red roof under the shade of some surprisingly leafy trees. Off to one side was a single stout traffic light, long dark for want of electricity and with a broken sign at its base faded into illegibility. The pub itself was open air, its walls and counter plastered with all manner of stickers, signs, and other decoration stretching back into the last century.

"The selection isn't as good as it once was," Tonga said apologetically as he passed beers around. The barflies at once took to greeting and slapping on the back Tom Barker, their rarely seen fearless leader.

"No thanks, I don't drink," Sabol politely refused the proffered bottle.

Tonga raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so much for the image of the corruptible Yank that we got after seeing your movies for so many years. Alcohol makes life bearable here, Mr. Sabol, but I guarantee you, any one of my boys who gets drunk and lets his guard down goes straight to the brig. It's a matter of discipline," Tonga took a sip of his beer and turned to Barker. "So, Tom, are we on a need to know basis here, or can you tell us why you're taking so many mecha south?"

Alarm bells went off in Sabol's head, but Barker didn't miss a beat: "Sabol here used to be in the Army of the Southern Cross. He thinks he knows where the UEF stored some more Veritechs, but the Invid are in force nearby. You do understand why I can't tell you more, I hope."

"Sure, sure. I'd love to help out, but we don't have much Protoculture left," Tonga replied, then turned to Sabol. "Most of our vehicles are non-Robotech, running on gasoline. Keeps the Invid from poking around too often."

If on cue, the walkie talkie at Barker's belt buzzed.

"Barker here," he transmitted.

"It's Pike. Commander, we've got trouble. Purple crabs heading our way up the road."

"I'll be right there, Jason. Don't fire unless fired upon," Barker instructed. The barflies were already up, their weapons out.

"Everyone with non-Robotech weapons, lock and load," Tonga told them as they fell in behind Barker, Sabol, Owens, and Radice. "Ted, Victor, man the Veritechs but don't activate your engines until you get my signal."

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Barker's camp was laid out as usual for field missions; there were three sap posts around the base camp, each manned by two infantrymen brought along in the trucks. If the Invid or any human bandits were attacked, fire could be triangulated from at least two of the sap posts as well as the base camp. As the group's mecha was kept in the center, the posts could foreseeably hold off an attack long enough for the mecha to power up and join the fight.

Jason Pike was lying concealed in some brush overlooking the cracked surface of the Stuart Highway, aiming a massive rifle at a group of about half a dozen Shock Troopers walking along it, making a pair of new potholes with every step of their clawed feet. The second man, Rodgers, held a rocket launcher at the ready.

"Now you know why our roads are in such ill-repair," Tonga whispered nervously.

"Is that a Veritech's cannon he's got there?" Sabol whispered to Barker.

"It's a M82 Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle," Pike answered without looking up from his scope. "Pre-Robotech, used by the US military. A slug will destroy one of those crabs, as long as you hit it in the eye."

"Yankee weapon," Owens teased, jabbing Sabol in the shoulder.

Sabol chuckled to himself again. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"This really isn't the time, guys," Jen told them with an edge in her voice.

The group waited in silence until the Invid passed by and continued

"They were closer than I'd like, but since they didn't detect any Protoculture, I don't think they'll come back until we're out of here," Barker said, clicking the safety back on his pistol. "For a moment there, I thought we had brought them down on you, Riley."

"Nah, you know, patrols are pretty regular round here," Tonga replied. "If they were going to attack us, they would have brought in the red crabs and blasted us from above."

"Thanks for telling us that earlier," Sabol exhaled.

"Well, we'll be heading back to down. Nice meeting you, " Tonga said cheerfully, slapping Sabol on the back.

When the locals had gone, Barker turned back to Sabol and the others. "You five will bunk together. Set up a tent on the reverse slope of this hill, two or three stay on watch at all times, we break camp at around 800 hrs tomorrow morning. You know the drill." They nodded, but Sabol stepped forward.

"Commander, may I have a word with you about tomorrow's route?" he asked a bit uncomfortably.

"Certainly," Barker answered.

"This isn't about tomorrow's route," Barker stated flatly when they were out of earshot of the others.

"Well, no less about the route than what you told Tonga about our mission," Sabol replied snidely. He took a deep breath. "I don't know exactly how to put this, but- I didn't think it was a standard practice to put men and women in the same tent."

"I should have figured you Southern Crossers would be like that," Barker replied with a wink, somewhat amused by Sabol's plight. "Gordon, it's not a standard practice per se. But the fact is, though, that in battle each and every one of us is relies on his -or her- mates to watch their backs. If you're with us long enough, you're going to discover that kind of trust extends not just to battle."

"I do see what you mean," Sabol replied, nodding.

Barker massaged his bearded jaw. "All of you are straight arrows anyway. That's why I placed you together. But I can have you reassigned if you'd prefer."

"No," Sabol answered after a moment. "I think I can handle it."

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Indeed he did. If Jen and Owens were awkward about the living arrangement, they didn't show it. The trio even talked a while before going to sleep about the mission and their plans if they survived the war…which were fanciful of course, given the long odds against their surviving it.

The sun was already beating down when the ACIFers broke down their tents and prepared their Veritechs for flight. Barker didn't place the emphasis on night travel that Sabol had during his run of the Torres Straight gauntlet. The ACIF leader explained that since the Invid could detect Protoculture as well day or night, they may as well travel when they could see. Barker assured him that it was easier to sleep when the day wasn't hot and bright either.

Sabol and Barker plotted (for real this time) a route for the day's journey; it was slightly southwest cross country to avoid any Invid patrols in unfamiliar territory. As the short morning's briefing broke up, Sabol was surprised to see Riley Tonga had come to see them off.

"Good luck, mates," he said sincerely, clasping the hands of everyone within reach. When he reached Sabol, he paused a moment longer, then asked: "Ok, it's been bothering me all night. So what's this funny secret of yours?"

Sabol glanced around at the intent faces of his comrades: "Well, you know how you all keep calling me a Yank?" he finally answered sheepishly. "Um…I'm Canadian."

He turned and ran to his AGAC, the raucous laughter echoing behind him.

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